A bruising weekend

Monday morning 5/29 I'm sitting in my office -- gingerly -- on a bruised and swollen crotch and my right hand is balooned and sore. It was a hell of a weekend.

Friday night after work we had a "women's night out" at Zeljka's flat. Her husband was away at a conference so she invited the women from the office and her mother. Rusa whipped up crepes with chocolate and jam, Bosnian coffee, ice cream and strawberries and brandy. And she led the story telling about men who disappoint, men who betrayed and are betrayed, abandonment, lonliness etc. I was a little glad my Bosnian isn't better. But at the end, she said, "Svaki priča su tružan." This I understood -- All stories are sad.

The next morning, Miranda, Dona and I trudged up to Breka the hilltop where I'll be housesitting for the next two weeks. I had to meet the housekeeper and get the keys. The house is owned by a couple who work for the US Embassy now home on a leave showing relatives their newborn daughter. I'm staying with Cleo and Aida, their cats, and enjoying their courtyard, fitness room, library and very confortable house.

Saturday night I brought Henry -- who I did not want to consort with Cleo and Aida, to Sally's where he'll stay. This is his old house and Sally brought back treats from her recent trip to the states and made a dinner party. I've never heard of quince paste -- but it's good on cheese and crackers and so was sweet potatoe pie. Sally talked me into horseback riding the next morning.

Ann came along too and this was comforting because she' s about my age and similarly inexperienced. Sally is an experienced rider and owns a lipanzaner, a big white horse named Ukaterina, that she keeps at a stable in the rolling green hills between Sarajevo and Kisaljak.

The horse assigned to me was named comfortingly enough -- beba. Baby. But I did not that she looked about the same size as Ann's horse Veliki -- BIG. I had to put on the saddle -- a European one without, I worried a little, the nice comforting pommel to hang onto of Western saddles and the bridle. This involves putting the bit into the horse's mouth and there was nothing babish about her carrot-mangling teeth.

Anyway, it began as a lovely ride along a series of logging roads through dense brush and hills. I was enjoying, as Sally had promised, the rhythm of the horses, the sounds of insects, birds and hooves on wood and roadways, the stunning scenery. We contemplated a two-hour ride along a ridge.

Then, disaster. Sally was riding ahead, then me, then Ann, as we crossed a paved road. A car beeped, troubling the horses, but we pulled to the right and passed. I heard Ann saying "hvala," "thanks" to the driver then gasp, yell NO and screaming. I twisted around to find her falling off Veliki and being pulled on the ground.

Bebe paniced and began sort of leaping. I pulled back on the reins to make her stop, which she did, but so abruptly that I slid off her side. As I lay there on my back limbs in the air like an overturned beetle, she stepped on or kicked my crotch. I was wearing a helmet but not a cup unfortunately.

Well, Ann was winded and upset. Sally was guilt-ridden. We had to catch horses. The driver and a farmer working nearby came running. The farmer took Ann, who refused to ride any more, in his car back to the stable. Sally asked if I wanted to ride or walk.

I wanted to be carried in a guerney to a warm bath, but I couldn't feel any blood and wanted to just pretend like everything was ok. So I got back on. It was really no worse than remounting that bike after a rest during that hideous 42-mile ride through NYC that I let Lisa talk me into a couple of years ago.

As it turned out, Ann didn't break or sprain anything. She's just a little sore. I didn't break anything but I have a sprained right hand (basically, using keys and holding coffee mugs is painful) and rather spectacularly discolored and swollen external sexual organs. Fortunately I'm not using them at the moment.